For a long time, I didn’t trust small signs of progress.
Not because they weren’t real, but because they felt out of proportion to the work. When you’ve put years into something, a single comment or a slight uptick can feel almost insulting. Like being asked to clap for crumbs.
Not dramatically. Not in a way that changes anything overnight. But enough that I noticed myself pausing instead of dismissing it.
There were twice as many streams on release day for GHOST2·0 compared to Running Away. Another producer left a comment saying they loved it and wanted to remix it. That hasn’t happened before. Those are just facts. They don’t mean the floodgates are open. They don’t mean anything is “about to happen.”
What surprised me was how uncomfortable it felt to let those things register in the past.
Part of me still wants to wave them away. To say it’s noise, or luck, or too small to count. That instinct has kept me protected before. Sure, It stops you getting carried away. It also stops you seeing what’s actually in front of you and what I allow myself to be grateful for.
I’m not suddenly optimistic. I’m not telling myself a story about momentum. I’m still aware of how slow this has been, and how much of it happens without witnesses.
But I am noticing a shift in how I measure things.
Not scaling the wins up into hope.
Not shrinking them down into nothing.
Just letting them exist at the size they actually are.
That feels quieter than motivation. More like calibration.
I’m making music to measure my own progress, release by release. Seeing that change is enough to keep me moving.
I don’t need these moments to save me. I just need to stop pretending they don’t matter because they don’t look how I imagined progress would.
That’s where I am right now. Not celebrating. Not quitting. Just paying closer attention.